


Prim

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Comeplay, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: It’s supposed to be only alpha and omega, or maybe prince and harem, but Noctis has never cared much for rules.





	Prim

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As much as his mind screams to knot the gorgeous omega below him, Gladiolus resists. He loves Noctis, he does, but not enough that his instincts overwhelm him, even with the cloying stench of Noctis’ heat still heavy in the air. Gladiolus pulls his base free but keeps his head buried in Noctis’ tight hole, and he roars his release as he pumps Noctis full. Noctis groans and arches into him, clinging to his naked back, their sweat gluing their chests together. As dangerous as it all is, Gladiolus always enjoys this part. 

Noctis is already bloated. It’s his third round in a row, and when Gladiolus begrudgingly pulls out after, he drags a small river with him. Noctis winces and grunts, even reaches a hand down to try and push Gladiolus back in. But Gladiolus is bigger, stronger—an alpha in his prime—and easily pulls free of his prince’s grasp. He rolls over on the grand bed, where he can stare straight up and claw for breath. Noctis always runs him ragged. 

Noctis lies there, just as spent and just as naked, except his thick cock is still half hard against his stomach. It never seems to go down. He pants for a few loud seconds, then hisses, “Again.”

Gladiolus just snorts, “Not even for you, Your Highness.” Maybe over the title, Noctis’ head rolls to face him. Noctis can glare with the best of them. 

Noctis goads, “Prom would fuck me again.”

But that just makes Gladiolus laugh, “Prom would make a lousy alpha, and you know it.” Noctis rolls his eyes, but he has to know it. Prompto’s a tiny little twig that Noctis can pin down with ease, and Noctis is a _prince_ who could take an army in his heat. Prompto still commands Noctis’ attention. Noctis’ face turns to the other side, where Prompto’s still curled up against him, flush at his side with one of his arms held captive, head pillowed on his shoulder. Normally, it’d wound Gladiolus’ pride to fuck Noctis right next to him, and not have the vibrations alone stir his sleep.

But Noctis and Prompto were fucking like rabbits all through the night, and Prompto’s earned his sleep. By all rights, Noctis should be just as dead to the world. But apparently it’s true what they say about the royal line and their stamina. 

Staring at Prompto’s sleeping face, like mapping every one of his cute freckles, Noctis mutters, “Fine. I’ll make do with him when he wakes up again.” Prompto’s face twitches, his soft lips drawing into a semi-smile. Maybe he’s dreaming of pleasing his prince, or maybe he can hear Noctis right through it. Watching them makes the alpha in Gladiolus’ chest growl in fierce _desire_ , but the rest of him needs its refractory period. 

He makes the usual comment: “This is why kings generally have harems.” Noctis doesn’t even acknowledge him, just rubs his nose against Prompto’s and reaches over to play with Prompto’s sweat-slicked bangs. 

Then Gladiolus wonders aloud, “Don’t you get bored fucking the same people over and over again?” At least for a prince, one with heats that could suffocate a whole room, it doesn’t seem enough.

But Noctis keeps his eyes on Prompto and quietly answers, “I’d have only Prom if I could, if another omega could satisfy the heat.” Pausing, Noctis finally glances back, and his piercing eyes seem fully lucid. “But you should understand that. You’d fuck Ignis over and over if you could, right?”

Suddenly, the mood of the afterglow’s changed. Gladiolus almost feels like he’s been punched. He wrenches his gaze away and busies himself with snatching at the disheveled sheets just for something to do. Tossing them over their lower halves, he snarls, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With that tone from an alpha as big as him, any other omega would cower away.

Noctis just snorts, “You really think I don’t see the way you look at him? You’ve got it worse than I do.”

“Brat,” Gladiolus grunts, because Noctis _is one_. “You’re even more impertinent in heat.” He can feel Noctis glaring a hole into the side of his head. He hopes this is one of those times where Noctis wakes up in two days with no clue what’s happened, having fucked his brain out of focus for the better part of a week. Then Prompto will talk his ear off with inane details and raunchy pictures, and Gladiolus’ embarrassment can fade back into the shadows. 

He knows he won’t be that lucky when the bedroom door pushes open. Gladiolus tenses on instinct, _just in case_ it’s an intruder, come to take advantage of their prince’s condition, but a split second later, he smells the other alpha and knows who it is. Ignis slips inside, quickly shutting the door again behind himself. He carries a tray of water, four glasses and a full pitcher, which he brings to the nightstand. When Noctis is like this, they go through water like air. 

As soon as it’s set down, Gladiolus snatches up the nearest glass and passes it to Noctis, all but forcing him to take it—Noctis lifts up on his elbows to suffer a few sips before plopping back down. Gladiolus downs the rest and returns the empty glass.

Ignis observes the situation, eyes roving from Gladiolus’ naked, sweaty body to Noctis’ flushed form, to Prompto still curled up at his side. To Noctis, Ignis asks, “Do you need anything else?”

“Cleaning up,” Noctis suggests, which is an understatement—his royal bed’s a mess of fluids.

Ignis nods and says, “I’ll run a bath.”

“No.”

Ignis pauses, lifting a long brow above his thin glasses. Noctis arches up and starts kicking the sheets away, undoing Gladiolus’ tiny scrap of decency, until he can lift his knees and show off his still-leaking hole. Ignis’ eyes instantly fall to it, as any alpha’s would. Even Gladiolus is drawn back to the intoxicating sight, though it’s mostly his cum clinging to Noctis’ ripe thighs. For all of his faults, their prince is undeniably beautiful.

But he can be spoiled sometimes, and he tells Ignis like an order: “Do it with your mouth.”

Gladiolus’ goes dry. He watches the subtle blush rise in Ignis’ aristocratic cheeks, watches the way his clear eyes try to hide any reaction. Ignis’ pert lips have parted, but at first, no sound comes out. He’s the only one in the room still wearing a stitch of clothing, all done up in his too-tight pants and long sleeves, even a jacket on, as though the room isn’t hot as fire. Gladiolus didn’t think that jacket would last long. 

He also didn’t think Ignis would wind up with _Gladiolus’ cum_ in his mouth, and Noctis’ motives aren’t lost on Gladiolus. He grumbles, “Our little prince is insufferable like this, isn’t he?”

Ignis doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t deny it either. Noctis just spreads his legs a little wider, hooking one foot over the back of Prompto’s knees. Prompto’s lying in his own drying puddle, and Gladiolus knows there’s more to Noctis’ mess than his own seed—Noctis’ channel has been absurdly wet all day, and Prompto got off plenty of rounds. But alphas come more than omegas, and Gladiolus always spends significantly more than that average. Noctis casually commands, “Lick Gladio’s cum out of my ass, Specs.” Like it’s nothing. 

Ignis meets Noctis’ heated gaze, then finally returns, equally as coolly, “You should really have a harem for this, Noct. We did try to warn you that Prom would hardly be able to satiate you, even with Gladio supplementing.”

Noctis counters easily, “And you don’t want to supplement too? You really don’t want to be a part of this?” He cocks his head slightly, chest arching forward, thighs open and _everything_ on display, but Gladiolus is the one his hand gestures to. He even reaches over Gladiolus’ broad chest, fingers lifting to slide over Gladiolus’ chin, ruffling the stubble. Ignis eyes the movement like a hawk. Enough of the sheets still cover Gladiolus’ lap to hide his cock, but he knows it’s starting to tent them again.

Another moment of silent challenge, and then Ignis sighs and sheds his jacket all at once, even allowing it to drop to the floor amidst all the other discarded clothes. With the rest of his outfit practically painted on, Ignis puts a knee on the bed, and hikes up to stalk forward. Gladiolus watches, transfixed, as he crawls towards their prince. He comes over Noctis on all fours, lowers to brush a kiss over Noctis’ cheek, and then trails more, wetter, _hungrier_ kisses down Noctis’ throat, while Noctis’ breath hitches and his breast rises to meet Ignis’ tongue. 

Ignis has just made it to his navel when Noctis adds, “Take off your shirt.” Ignis obeys without pause. His fingers fly across the buttons, body still bent over Noctis’, and then he’s shrugging out of the dark purple material and flicking it back over the edge. His body, long and lithe and the stuff of Gladiolus’ hottest fantasies, gives its all to every kiss. He reaches Noctis’ thighs and slides his skilled fingers, free of any gloves today, over Noctis’ creamy skin. Then he’s licking down below, and Gladiolus finds himself lifting up to get a better view, even if it means making himself obvious to Noctis. He almost feels bad for Prompto, sleeping right through the encore. 

Gladiolus doesn’t have the best angle, but he can still see enough of Ignis’ pink tongue gliding through the mess between Noctis’ thighs. Ignis gathers a large glob of milky white and draws it back into his mouth, only for Noctis to say, “Don’t swallow.”

Ignis eyes flicker back up. Tongue drenched as it is, it looks uncharacteristically sloppy when Ignis asks, “And how exactly am I supposed to clean you, then?”

Noctis abandons all pretenses and tells him, “Just lick it up and show it to Gladio.” Gladiolus can feel his face going red. Ignis turns a curious look towards him, and Gladiolus wants to look away and feign innocence, but there’s no turning away from Ignis’ now.

Slow and steady, Ignis does as he’s told. He buries his face in Noctis’ ass and reemerges with cum and slick all over his lips and chin. It gets worse when he gracefully rises, sitting over Noctis with his breath coming just a little quicker than usual, and he opens his mouth wide to show off the contents. A part of it looks so _wrong_ on Ignis—so _dirty_ for someone so elegant, but that’s part of what sends a ravenous shiver down Gladiolus’ spine. He’s never wanted to fuck Ignis so badly, which is saying something, because there’ve been plenty of times where he’s been seconds away from throwing Ignis against the nearest wall and pounding him into oblivion.

Noctis casually drawls, “If I can have another omega, I don’t see why two alphas can’t have each other. It’s not like we don’t all have other helping hands.” 

Ignis turns back to Noctis, and a knowing look suddenly comes into his eyes. Gladiolus had thought he would need at least another hour after how virile Noctis was.

But that was before he saw Ignis swallow his cum. Ignis does so, taking three tries to finish and needing his tongue to gather it all before each one, despite Noctis’ orders. He seems to have picked up on Noctis’ intent anyway, and the damage is done. When Ignis’ mouth is clean again, he traces his lips in a final check, leaving them glossy and irresistible. 

Gladiolus growls a bitter, “Fine,” and lunges up to meet them, smashing into Ignis so hard that the two of them nearly topple over. Instead, Ignis’ arms circle Gladiolus’ shoulders, and he leans right back into it, tasting Gladiolus’ tongue as eagerly as he did Gladiolus’ seed. The salty remnants don’t bother Gladiolus—he licks Ignis like _he’s_ the omega in heat, with Ignis his royal concubine. 

When Gladiolus wrenches away, it’s only to eye Noctis, who’s mewling in pleasure, hips cantering up below them. His cock is rock hard again, leaking at the head. Ignis eyes it with a mixture of wistful want and caring sympathy, but before he can move for it, Gladiolus demands, “Is this the show you wanted?”

Noctis groans, “Yes, please,” in that sultry, needy sort of way that makes Gladiolus’ cock twitch against Ignis’ thigh. It seems cruel for Ignis to still be wearing pants, but Gladiolus plans to fix that. 

He knows he should attend to Noctis first, but apparently, he doesn’t have to—Prompto finally stirs, stuttering his hips against Noctis’ as he moans and he cricks open his eyes. Then he buries his face in Noctis’ shoulder, visibly drinking in Noctis’ sea of pheromones, and probably causing his own heat in the process. Gladiolus knows he and Ignis aren’t done with them yet. 

But they can handle themselves for at least one round, and Gladiolus leaves them to it as Ignis pulls him in for another searing kiss—the real party only just begun.


End file.
